


Pax Romana

by korasami



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Federalist Papers and Chill, James Madison is probably asexual, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korasami/pseuds/korasami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An asexual (and possibly aromantic?) James Madison having a gossipy sleepover with a randy Alexander Hamilton while trying to write the Federalist #18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pax Romana

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jamie_Hill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Hill/gifts), [Dezzie-chan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dezzie-chan).



> Spawned by a conversation with tumblr user dezzie-chan and requested by tumblr user major-jamie-hill. Sorry it isn’t smutty, I honestly tried, but James Madison is too pure, too innocent. (And I am too asexual, too gay.)
> 
> I'm just catching my Ao3 up to my Tumblr, this isn't a new fic, it's from July, so if this is familiar, that is why.

[M](http://betseyschuylers.tumblr.com/post/123345645128/fic-pax-romana-james-madisonalexander-hamilton)adison was stumped. It was not that he could not bring himself to translate his thought onto paper, nor was it a lack of knowledge on the benefits of a centralized government which hindered his pen. Simply put, Madison had a horrible case of the author's deadliest affliction: writer's block.

Yet there was a deadline, and deadlines must be met. Hamilton and Jay—and the rest of the American populous—depended on him to convey the reasoning behind a strong framework for the United States. Without his skill with the written word, if Publius lost one-third of its contributors, Madison feared the strength of the collaborative _Federalist_ might become a mere casualty of both the ruthless opposition and Hamilton's typically bull-headed response to attacks on his character.

"Madison?"

Think of the Devil, and he shall appear.

"Alexander, hello. I failed to hear your knock."

Hamilton sat down on the armrest of Madison's chair. He was smiling widely. "That, my dear Madison, is because I didn't."

Humphing, Madison shoved the blank paper before him off to the side and finished off the large glass of wine he had been refilling for the past several hours. "How many times must I say? Call me James. And please refrain from breaking my chair; you might be entirely skin and bones, but you are no feather. Please, use my desk if you must. Nothing substantial is going to get done on it tonight at any rate."

Alexander raised an eyebrow, and if the man did not sculpt it vainly, Madison would eat Washington's teeth. He followed Madison's instructions, lifting himself onto the desk with ease. "Oh?"

Madison grimaced. He might as well confess his problems. Many well-regarded pamphlets had been written by, or at least attributed to, Hamilton over the past decade, and Madison figured he might have a few surprise cures for the temporary curse of uncreativity.

"I have been absolutely stumped on what to write for this," he confessed. "Every time I dip my pen—nothing. It is as if the nib is dry, only my brain is the problem instead. It's positively maddening!"

Laughing, Alexander looked down at Madison. "Oh, _James_ ," he said, voice full of mirth. "I do pity you. I certainly have had my share of the stuck pen. But, alas, there really is no definite cure for your problem." Alexander pushed himself closer to Madison, his smile widening. "At least, not one that you shall find readily available without a fair cost."

Confused, Madison leaned his temple on his propped-up index finger. "Sorry, Alexander, but I fail to see your point."

Shifting himself to let his legs dangle freely, Hamilton shrugged. "I only mean," he began, and Madison was unsure how to interpret his tone. "That my cure, I have found, is to spend some quality time with my Betsey. Play the violin, to put it more elegantly. But, as you are not a married man to my knowledge, the only decent company you could utilize to let free your creative juices would be that of a painted woman."

Madison pushed his chair back to the best of his ability. "Painted woman?" he repeated, voice high with scandal.

"Or man," Alexander added, a sly smirk forming. "I cannot claim to speak for every man, especially not when I have yet to speak entirely for myself."

Despite the deliberate obscurity in his friend's words, Madison could not believe what he was hearing. "And by _what_ do you mean with that, Hamilton?"

Laughing, Hamilton crossed his legs on the desk. Madison wondered if it was possible for the man to sit still. "Well," Hamilton said, voice low, "I did not always turn to a potential wife's company to relieve me of my writing block," he admitted. "This, of course, was before Betsey and I were married—give or take."

Madison's eyes bulged. "A-and, you…?"

With an eye roll, Hamilton leaned forward. "Speak up, man!"

There was a pause in which Madison took a large gulp of air. "You mean to say...?" he shook his head, incredulous. "No, I must be misinterpreting. Surely, a man of your character…?"

There were definite tears in Alexander's eyes, which had sprung from the man's incurable laughter. "And who determines what a man of my supposed character ought to desire? But then again, America is so strange with her unmentionables!" His words reminded Madison of his birth nationality more than his lingering accent, which Madison had grown accustom to, ever could. "Yes, well, I suppose you Virginians are of a certain breed. I have yet to meet one with a _sensibility_ similar to mine—mind you, I have yet to give up on Jefferson's…" Hamilton's voice got quieter as Madison's eyes got wider. "Pardon me, my sir! I can tell I should never have opened my mouth."

Although a rapid blush had spread across Madison's cheeks, the coloring was more of embarrassment than it was one of disgust.

"No, Alexander, it's quite alright."

Alexander cocked his head to the side. "Is it?"

"Well," Madison said with a definite stammer, "What you do on your own time is none of my business. I believe you will find in time that discretion and independence are both considered the highest of virtues for a Virginian. Your secret is safe with me."

The two men sat in silence for only a short second. "Thank you for your courtesy, Madison," Hamilton began slowly, "but I am afraid my preferences are widely known amongst our political peers,or at least widely speculated. Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't heard the rumors. Even Washington himself is aware, though he has always chosen to ignore it."

Madison looked down at his hands. What a turn the conversation had taken—and yet, Madison still was not as alarmed as he ought to have been. "And Mrs. Hamilton?"

Oddly, considering the context of the conversation, Hamilton's eyes lit up. He smiled, letting crinkles form at his corners. "Betsey? She truly is the most wonderful person I could ever meet. We have an arrangement: she makes no fuss regarding my extramarital habits with my own sex and I take no offense when she indulges in her's. It surely is the best rule of engagement for any lovers—and, by God, what a lover she is!"

Suddenly feeling out of place, Madison took several seconds to formulate his response. He was unsure of how to comprehend Hamilton's enthusiast confession about himself (and, apparently, his wife), but a lingering curiosity had planted itself and refused to let go. "So, you find pleasure in laying with your wife despite your, and do pardon me, sinful desires?" Madison felt ashamed for the question—this was far from the advice he had sought from his friend, and not a subject he felt he would brooch with anyone for as long as he lived.

But Hamilton apparently found no shame in discussing the subject of his affinity for sodomy, and so he carried on like a young lady gossiping to her sewing circle. His self, Madison noted, was his favorite topic.

"Please note, my dear Madison, that all men are created differently, with different politics, tastes, habits, presentations, _et cetera_. I cannot, nor do I wish to, claim to speak for you, or Jefferson, or King George himself! But for me," Hamilton leaned in as if to convey a secret, and Madison found himself leaning his ear in apprehension, "I find no distinction between men and women when it comes to _natural instinct_. I simply see, and if I enjoy the sight, I pursue. There is no fault to be found in a saucy romp between two consenting adults. My fault merely lies with how many adults I am willing to consent to!"

Hamilton laughed, but Madison failed to see humor in those words. Rather, he felt quite uneasy. His friend was a far more worldly man than he could have possibly assumed, and here the man was, brushing his promiscuity aside as if it were something as banal as breakfast!

"Makes sense enough," said Madison regardless of what he truly thought. "But how exactly does it work?"

Curiosity killed the cat, but Hamilton's feline-like features only made his intrigued expression endearing. "And what exactly, James, are you asking me?"

Realizing what he had said to spark this response from Alexander, Madison shook his head quickly, wringing his hands, but remained silent. While he could not claim with any truthfulness that he found any particular desire to bed a man (or, if he was truthful, a woman, either), Madison was not entirely certain as to what male sodomy actually entailed.

"S-sorry," Madison said, "This is not proper conversation." He scooted his chair back and stood up. Pacing always helped clear the mind, so he did just that. "So! Have you any other ways to revive my interest in the _Federalist_ paper?" He tried not to think about the first suggestion.

Hamilton did not move from his perch. "Damn _the Federalist_! Tell me about yourself."

_Good God_ , Madison thought. "What kind of things are you interested in hearing?" He asked instead.

The infuriating man on his desk shrugged. "Whatever you're willing to reveal. I certainly have shared enough for one day, and I do appreciate reciprocation."

Running his hand over his hair, Madison exhaled in defeat. "You want it to be in the same vein as your blathering?" Hamilton laughed at this, and Madison went to his nightstand to pour himself some wine. "Would you like some?"

"Hmm?"

Madison held up the bottle, shaking it. "Wine. Shall I pour you a glass?"

Hamilton's nose crinkled in slight distaste. "After the convention, I cannot stand the stuff. But don't change the subject!"

Madison chuckled. Hamilton's sobriety was understandable, considering the events he referred to. Taking note of Hamilton's other words, Madison paused go over their previous conversation in his mind. "Okay. Where to start?"

"Are you a virgin?"

As he was pouring his wine, Madison let his hand slip. The contents of the glass doubled in amount. Groaning slightly, Madison gulped down the entire drink in only a matter of seconds. What a waste of fine wine, but Madison knew he would need it. He set his empty glass down and threw himself on the bed before him, face down and eagle spread.

"Yes, Hamilton."

Madison could hear the floorboards cream under Hamilton's feet, and then the bed caved in next to him.

"Really?" Hamilton asked. His voice was full of interest. "Is that painful?"

Madison laughed, but it was full of bitterness. "Why would it? I honestly have no desire to copulate."

This seemed to intrigue Hamilton more than it ought. "Genuinely?" he asked. "If so, I have never met a man as content!"

Madison rolled over to look at his friend's face. He seemed truly sincere in his curiously, so Madison figured it best to be honest.

"Yes, Alexander, genuinely. There's not much I can say other than I just have never felt the need to engage in such matters. Womanly assets have never held an aesthetic draw to me—and, before you ask, neither have manly ones." Madison had never really given his romantic or sexual leanings much thought, only the occasional consideration when the topic of intimate escapades arose amongst his randy peers, but he had always figured he was just celibate in mind as well as in practice. Alexander, however, was positively stumped. Madison could see to his amusement that none of his words were relatable to his friend.

"So you've never felt any sexual urges?"

"No."

Hamilton frowned. "Have you ever kissed anybody?"

The copious amount of wine in Madison's system must have been flowing to his brain. "No, I haven't. But that is less of a repulsion than it is a lack of drive and availability."

"Do you want to?"

Madison furrowed his brows. "Do I—What?"

He had very little time to prepare for Alexander's rapid fire movements. Before he could realize what was happening, Alexander had shifted so that his face was leaning over Madison's, their noses nearly touching.

"May I kiss you, Madison?"

Madison's eyes bugged and he pushed himself into the mattress as far as a solid would allow. "Alexander! This is indecent!"

Alexander's heavy-lidded eyes sparkled. He lowered his head just a hair. "Is it?"

All Madison could do was squeak in reply. He could not be certain what could qualify as indecent after the conversation he had been having with Hamilton those past ten minutes or so, and had to admit (to himself at least) that he was not entirely against the idea of letting Hamilton kiss him.

"I will not do it unless you say otherwise," Hamilton told him, and Madison could feel his face flush red.

He knew he had the power to stop this, and he had half a mind to do just that. And still, Madison's curiosity remained. In the back of his mind, Madison was giving Hamilton a meek affirmative—and, to Madison's mixed horror and fascination, he realized he must have spoken aloud. Hamilton smiled, almost predator-like, and captured Madison's lips in a hungry kiss.

As far as kisses went, Madison had no grounds to determine quality. Still, Hamilton certainly was experienced in this matter, and that definitely showed. Hamilton made open-mouthed pulls on Madison's lips, which Madison found quite pleasurable. He tried to mimic the deed, which elicited a chuckle from Hamilton. Madison suddenly gasped; Hamilton had slipped his tongue into his mouth.

_That_ was an unusual feeling, for sure. Madison was unsure if he could describe the slimy feeling of a tongue against his own, but decided he was not too fond of it. Still, he had come this far without the wrath of God coming down upon them; he might as well go through with everything Hamilton had planned. That kind of thinking was new. But then again, so was everything else.

Madison felt slightly ashamed that his mind was elsewhere while Hamilton was clearly kissing him with his all, but he could not help his slight disinterest. In all his years he had no desire to be intimate with anyone, and he did not see himself starting that now.

Still, Hamilton was an attractive man. And the fair amount of alcohol Madison had consumed before they had began (and, before Hamilton had arrived, although he was not planning on revealing that) had settled in, and he felt more at ease. Hamilton shifted his position to lie next to Madison, pulling Madison onto his side and sneaking an arm around his neck. Pulling Madison closer, Hamilton deepened their kiss. Madison did not doubt that his less-than-enthusiastic response had been noticed.

"Alexander, wait," Madison said once he broke the kiss, pushing a light hand on Hamilton's chest.

Hamilton pouted, but slid back anyway. "What's the matter?"

Madison sighed. "Nothing. I am just nervous, and inebriated."

"And?" Hamilton's pout evolved into a concerned frown. "I refuse to take advantage of you, so if you think you shall regret my company in the morning I can take my leave."

Shaking his head, Madison grabbed Hamilton's hand. "No, it isn't that."

"Then what?"

A sigh. "Maybe I have not grown accustom to the idea of being intimate with another man, even if it is just kissing. I really do like your company, Alexander. And perhaps, one day I will harbor more romantic feelings for you, or sexual ones. Until then…" Madison trailed off, looking past Hamilton at nothing in particular. He was not sure what he wanted to say, nor was he sure he wanted to say anything at all.

"Until then?" Hamilton repeated, his voice prompting. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. "James?"

Nothing made sense to Madison anymore. The turn of events which the night had taken could never have been dreamt up by him in a thousand years.

"Hold me?" He asked. That, at least, could be seen as platonic.

To Madison's surprise, Hamilton hesitated. "Oh, sure," he said, "But I am afraid—goodness."

"What is it?" Madison asked. Was Hamilton the type of fellow to bed and run? He did not seem it, but then again, Madison had no experience with the entire business.

Even more confusing was the blush that rose across his cheeks. "Well, if I am to embrace you as you desire, there won't be a way to hide it. I apologize in advance for both my predicament and my bluntness regarding it, my friend, but I have been—unfortunately for your sensibility, I'm afraid—rather aroused by this entire scenario for the past several minutes."

Madison closed his eyes to comprehend what he was told. He was no stranger to the sensation, having been subject to it himself under the sheer mandate of the human body, but he did not wish to offend Hamilton with his lack of sexual reaction.

"That is of no consequence," Madison told him finally. He then turned around to face away from Alexander. "What are you waiting for?"

There was a rustle of fabric on fabric and the creaking of a bedframe, then Madison felt the warm arms of his friend wrap across his chest from behind. Following the arms came the rest of Hamilton, who was pulling himself forward and Madison backward to meet each other in the middle. And yes, Madison thought, there was a defined telltale press against his lower back. A curious feeling for sure, one that gave Madison a strange stirring in his lower stomach, but he refused to let it bother him.

Madison sighed lightly as he glanced over at his deserted desk. _The Federalist_ would have to wait—perhaps Alexander would stay in the morning to aid the drafting of it—but that was no matter. The warm breath against his ear and the heartbeat against his shoulderblades calmed down any insecurities Madison might have had towards the fate of America; and even if Alexander was to never achieve the sexual satisfaction he clearly was aiming for, Madison had the feeling he would be seeking his friend's comforting contact often throughout the next while of trying political revolution.

 


End file.
